He strode from the church and headed towards the house. He would just have enough time to write Emma a letter before he had to leave to pick up Mark and his family from the train station.
As he sat at his desk, his eyes landed on the globe he had given Emma on her nineteenth birthday. He picked it up and shook it, and as he did he seemed to hear voices in his head. “I don’t even know a Doran,” the woman’s voice was saying. It almost sounded like Emma’s voice. Why would she say that? Of course, she knew who he was. He shook his head, and placed the globe back on his desk, watching the sliver flicks float in the water, and settle all around the kissing couple. Then he gave a sigh, and pulled out paper and pen so he could write to the Emma of the future.
The train was late, and it irritated Doran that he had to wait for its arrival. The days seemed so short any more, and after Emma’s death, he realized how short life could really be. It seemed every moment counted to him now, and there were so many things he wanted to do before he died himself. Of course, Emma would not reveal the date of his death, so he didn’t know how many days or years he had left on this earth.
His thoughts were shattered by the loud shrill of the train whistle, as it finally pulled into the station, and steam bellowed out around the wheels as it began to come to a stop. There were several other people milling around the platform waiting for friends and relatives to arrive on the train, and other passengers eager to board the train.
Finally, out of the crush of the crowd, he saw a tall thin man, holding a young boy in his arms, and a woman who was definitely expecting a new child, clinging to his elbow. He pushed forth to greet them, and they followed him to where his carriage was parked, and while they climbed up inside, he went to see about their luggage.
Eventually, everything was loaded, and Doran climbed into the carriage with them, and signaled for the driver to start out.
“I hope the journey was pleasant,” Doran murmured, trying to break the silence.
“Nerve wracking,” his sister in law responded.
“It was fun,” her son chimed in.
“Pleasant enough,” Mark added.
“I hope you will enjoy staying at Mayfield Acres,” Doran smiled. “Mayfield is a family name, you know. The plantation had been given to the Fosters by the Mayfields as a dowry when their daughter married into the Foster family.”
“I am sure we will love it,” Julia assured him.
“Do you have lots of horses?” her son asked.
“I am sure he does, Will,” Mark answered, before Doran could reply.
“And I will gladly show them all to you,” Doran smiled. “I have a son, but he is a lot younger than you are. Perhaps when he gets bigger, you will both be good friends. Of course, you are cousins, and it is always nice to have someone in your own family to share things with.”
“My mother is going to give me a new baby sister or brother,” William said proudly.
“Then there will be three of you to play together,” Doran cheered. It would be good to have children’s laughter filling the house, he thought to himself. The house seemed too quiet lately.
They arrived at the plantation, and the day was filled with getting everyone settled in. Mark wanted to see Emma’s grave, so Doran led the way, and stood back a few paces, as Mark gazed down at the grave. “What is the little door on the stone for?” Mark asked, turning towards Doran.
“Just a cubby hole where I place letters and favorite poems to Emma,” he stated. “I find it hard to believe she is gone, so I continue to write to her, as though she is still alive.”
“Really, that sounds rather odd,” Mark murmured.
“Perhaps, but it comforts me. Do you believe in reincarnation, Mark? I keep wondering if sometime in the future we come back as other people, and run into our loved ones from times past. I would dearly love to find Emma again and marry her in a future life. Our time here was so short. It doesn’t seem fair.”
“Life is not always fair, you should not waste your time dreaming about something that no one actually knows about. Even if it could happen, it is not going to happen in your life time, so why even worry about it?”
“It just gives one pause to think, and have something to look forward to, I guess,” Doran replied.
“I do miss my sister, but she has already been gone from home for a couple of years, and since I have not seen her for all that time, it is a little easier for me to accept, I guess.”
“Yes, I suppose so. It is about time for supper, though, so we had better head back to the house,” Doran suggested. He looked down at the grave marker, before they started back, and noticed the letter he had put in there earlier was no longer there. He wondered what Emma was thinking about his letter? He would have to come back and check for a new letter, and respond right away, hoping that she would still be at the grave, when his new letter arrived.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
1979
Emma lay in her bed. She couldn’t sleep because too many unanswered questions kept buzzing around in her head. She couldn’t imagine how her letter disappeared from the cubby hole, when both she and Cassandra were right there, sleeping in the graveyard, and there were no signs of new tracks anywhere. She had returned to the graveyard later that evening, but there hadn’t been a new letter yet, so now she lay awake wracking her brain. If she really was Emma from the past, surely there would be something she would remember, but even Doran’s letter telling how he met her, did not jog a past memory. For all she knew, he had made that all up, she thought angrily to herself.
Eventually, her lids drooped, and she found herself dreaming. It was her birthday, and they were having a party out on the lawn. She had never had a birthday out on a lawn before, and she realized that the yard was not her own yard, or her parent’s yard, or any other yard she could recall. The people at her party were all dressed in old fashioned clothes, and she was dressed in the same era of dress as everyone else. The women wore bonnets and carried fans and parasols. The men wore top hats, and tight-fitting trousers that flared a little at the ankle. Their coats were long, with tails, and the lapels were wide. Her dress was a pale blue, with puffed sleeves and a low neckline. She wore a string of pearls around her neck, and wore a blue bonnet, her ringlets all pulled to one side of her head, cascading over her left shoulder.
Someone was coming up to her with a gift in his hand, and she realized it was Doran, because she recognized him. He smiled and kissed her on the cheek, and handed her the brightly wrapped box. She opened it up and pulled out a lovely glass globe with two people kissing inside of it. She had known what it was going to be before she even opened the box, she realized, and suddenly Emma sat up in bed, wide awake, her whole body shaking.
She had forgotten about the globe from a stranger that she hadn’t even known, and the sound of her voice came back to her saying, “I don’t even know a Doran!”
Someone by the name of Doran had given her the very same gift she saw in her dream. Of course, the reason she saw it in her dream was because she had already received the gift on her nineteenth birthday, and in her dream she thought that Doran from the past had given it to her.
Suddenly she sprang out of bed and rushed to her closet, pulling down boxes of things she had stored on the top shelf, until she found the gift. She had left it in the box because it had upset David so much, and she hadn’t even known who had given it to her. She had forgotten all about it until she had the dream.
Emma opened the box, and pulled the globe out from the tissue paper, staring down at it. The card that had come with it fell to the floor, and she bent down and looked at it. “Remember our love. Doran,” it said in a scrawl that looked nothing like the writing of the letters she was receiving. But someone by the name of Doran knew her before she ever discovered the letter in the tombstone. Who was this Doran, and why had he given her a gift on her birthday, when she didn’t even know him? Had he been stocking her? Did he get the bright idea to start writing her letters in the tombstone? Only ho
w would he know about the letter she found first? The stone had been covered in ivy, when she first discovered it, and the door had been locked and corroded. Besides that, his handwriting didn’t look anything like the handwriting from Doran of the past.
Emma shook the globe, watching the glitter fall around the kissing couple, and as she did, she seemed to be transported into a different dimension, because it felt like a man was holding her and telling her how much he loved her, and telling her that when she looked at the globe to always remember their love. The very thing the card had said, she realized. She had it all mixed up in her mind. Why hadn’t she remembered any of that when she first received the present, she wondered?
Emma sat the globe on her dresser, getting back in bed and just sitting there, staring at it. There had to be a connection. The globe looked old. The base was all intricately carved wood, painted gold, with miniature flowers, and harts and birds, worked into the pattern. She would take it to an antique store in the morning and find out just how old it really was, she decided. Whoever got it for her claimed his name was Doran, and it might bring her closer to discovering if it was the same Doran who asked about her paintings the day before. She would have to call Sal and find out if Doran Foster ever came back to buy the paintings.
She couldn’t go back to sleep for the rest of the night, and she lay tossing and turning, trying to put everything together in her mind. When the sun finally started to shine through the window, she sprang out of bed, put the globe back in its box, but left the card on her dresser. The shops would be open, by the time she got to Saint Louis, and she would stop at Sal’s place as well, while she was about it, instead of calling him, she decided.
When she walked into the shop, a little bell rang, and she looked up to see an old fashioned bell, hanging above the door, which the door hit as it opened. Since it was early, there were not any customers in the shop, and the man behind the counter, smiled at her, as she entered. “Is there something I can help you find?” he asked, eager to have a satisfied customer.
“Actually, I have something I want you to date and appraise for me,” she told him, as she put the box on the counter, and then lifted the globe out, setting it down on the glass counter that displayed small antique items within it.
“My word,” the man said. “I have not seen one of these before, even though I have seen them in catalogues. Wherever did you find it?”
“It was given to me as a birthday gift a year ago,” she admitted. “Can you tell me anything about it?”
“Well, right off, I can tell you it is pre Civil War era. And even back then it was an expensive gift. There was a limited edition of them made back then. All hand carved, you know, and that is why it is hard to find them now. They are so fragile, that many apparently ended up getting broken. Someone must have really loved you to give you such an expensive gift. It is worth between two to five thousand dollars,” he told her. “This is something you usually find in museums, not antique shops.”
“Really?” Emma said in a shocked voice. Some stranger had given her a priceless antique that was not only expensive back then, but was rare now! Why would he do that? Where had he gotten it, she wondered?
“I would handle it very carefully, if I were you,” he suggested. “It looks in excellent condition right now. It could be worth even more than what I quoted, if it were auctioned off,” he informed her. He gently picked up the globe and tipped it upside down. “Oh, this is even more rare than I thought. It has a compartment in the bottom. See the little latch?” He pushed the latch aside, and a little door sprang open. Inside was a yellowed card. “Oh, goodness, this makes it worth even more, because it has a personal note inside,” he exclaimed. “Do you mind if I read it?” he asked.
“I…I didn’t even know it was there,” she stated, as she watched him lift the card out of the base of the globe with two fingers.
“Happy Birthday, Emma. I will always love you, Doran. April 1, 1858. Well that dates it, but that doesn’t mean that was the year it was made. It only means it could be older than that, since they were made between 1850 and 1860,” he told her.
Emma was shaking. She had received the gift on her nineteenth birthday, and Emma of the past had received it on her nineteenth birthday as well. “Are you alright, miss?” the man asked, noticing her pale face, and the way her eyes widened, and her hand shook.
“I am feeling a little faint. May I sit down?” she asked in a shaking voice.
“Certainly,” he told her, rushing around the counter and helping her to one of the antique chairs. “Did you want to sell the globe? I will give you top price for it,” he offered, as she slowly sat down.
“No…no. I could never sell it. It was a gift,” she insisted. “And what is even more amazing is the man who gave it to me was named Doran as well. I think he is related to the person who put that card in the compartment,” she murmured.
The man went back to the counter, and replaced the card in the base of the globe, tucking the globe into the box, and securing the lid. “That is very interesting,” he mumbled. “Take good care of it,” he added, and he brought the box over to her, placing it in her lap, and she grasped it with both hands.
“I will,” she promised, as she slowly got to her feet. “I think I am feeling better now,” she mumbled, and went out of the shop. As soon as she got home, she would compare the writing on the card to the letters she had been receiving, and with the card that came with the gift, she decided. Now she wanted to know who Doran was, and where he lived. She hoped Sal could tell her that.
Emma drove to Sal’s art studio. She was thinking that the globe was more expensive than the car she drove, even when it was brand new. Now she worried that something would happen to it. It had to be the same Doran that was looking for her paintings, she reasoned. He knew about her, but she did not know about him. She had to discover his connection to all of this.
Sal greeted her as she opened the door. “Do you have more paintings for me?” he asked. “You won’t believe this, but every one of your paintings have already been sold. I have been trying to contact you, but you never answer your phone!”
“What?” she asked astonished. “I just brought them a couple of days ago! Did Doran Foster buy them all?”
“He bought a few of them, but he did not come back in to get them. He sent some friends, who ended up buying the rest of your paintings, and assured me that they also had friends that would be interested in buying your work. You are going to become famous, Emma, if this keeps up,” he smiled.
“I…I haven’t had time to do more paintings,” Emma admitted. I have been busy with other things. Did you get his address or phone number?” she asked. “Did you give him my phone number?”
“I told you, his friends came to purchase the gifts. I told them to give him your phone number. They would not tell me his number. It was all done in cash, and they barely talked to me the whole time. However, they promised they would check in again to see if I had any more of your work.”
Emma knew he would never call her. He knew exactly where she lived, seeing as how he managed to come to her birthday party, a year ago, and her number was listed, so he didn’t need her giving it to him. Yet she still couldn’t figure out how he knew that she would be bringing her artwork in before she had even done it, unless he had been in the shop on the day she had shown Sal her artwork when Sal promised to buy them, but how did he know she was going to do Doran’s tombstone as well? Nothing made any sense, and it was driving her crazy!
“Better get to work, Emma. Hang on, and I will write you a check for the paintings they bought. I priced them high, and they didn’t even balk at the price. He must have some wealthy friends.” Sal went to the back room, and returned a few minutes later, handing her a check. She looked down at the check.
“Three thousand dollars!” she cried, when she read the amount.
“I sold them for five hundred each, and kept my commission from the total,” he smiled. “You keep turning out mo
re artwork, and you can quit that waitress job you are always complaining about,” he winked. “That would give you a lot more time to visit graveyards and turn out more paintings,” he pointed out.
“I can’t believe this,” she murmured, as she put the check in her purse. Who was this Doran Foster? Now she was more curious than ever. There had to be a connection between all of this, since he admitted the paintings were of his ancestors, when he first came to Sal’s studio. Only he wanted to remain anonymous for some reason. He must have recognized her when she brushed past him, and that is why he sent his friends back, instead of coming back himself, she reasoned. Even so, he had given his real name when he first talked to Sal. He just didn’t want her to see him, she decided. “Thanks, Sal,” she said. “I will try and get some more paintings done as soon as I can,” she promised, and left the shop.
Here she had a globe that was worth more than her car, given to her by a Doran, and now Doran Foster had bought her artwork, not to mention the friends that bought some as well, and she hadn’t even met this man.
Her head was reeling all the way home, and she couldn’t wait until she could compare the handwriting of the two cards, and the letters she had been receiving, and then go to the graveyard to discover if Doran had sent her another letter. Cassandra was not going to believe this, she told herself, as she pressed her foot against the accelerator of the car a little harder.
Emma, put the two cards side by side. It was plain that the handwriting of the yellowed card, was not the same as the card that originally came with the gift when she first received it. Just as she was starting to suspect, the writing on the yellowed card matched her letters from the past exactly, and she could tell it was written with the same pen. She just stood there staring at them, not knowing what to do.
She put the card back in the globe, and leaned the other card up against it, as she placed it on the mantle over a gas fireplace. As she set the globe down, she stood for a moment looking at it, but everything started to change. The mantle had changed somehow. The globe was still sitting on it, but other objects that she did not recognize seemed to suddenly materialize out of nowhere. Her eyes were caught by the fireplace, which had logs burning in it. That was impossible! She didn’t even have the gas fireplace lit, because the weather was warmer now, and it was fake anyway. As suddenly as the vision appeared, it faded out of sight, and Emma grabbed against the mantle to steady herself. What was happening to her, she wondered?
Letters From The Grave Page 12